


the last prophecy

by appettence



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, i tried to write this as if god were narrating like the tv show, this is post-Armageddon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 22:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appettence/pseuds/appettence
Summary: To most people, love was the perfect mix of precise and complicated. A little enigma of pain and happiness that could only go one of two ways, which was really the simplest part about it.Yet, for Crowley and Aziraphale, love had always been a little different.





	the last prophecy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> this is the start of my friend leah's little week long bday present, because I love her and she deserves the world. this is meant to be a god-style narration like the tv show but i'm not sure i accomplished that. either way, they're in love and that's that

It all starts with a garden, exactly where it was meant to. A snake, set on creating chaos to satisfy his side, crawls from the ground and whispers the first temptation into the new world. What he doesn’t expect, though, is running into an angel. He doesn’t mean to get too close, but as he’s exploring the garden, he comes across a new kind of smell. It smells of nature; of fresh fruit and dirt and it smells  _ good _ . Not enjoyable, but righteous. The way heaven used to smell, but warm. 

 

He liked it. 

 

And so, he slithered over, not surprised to see the pretty white wings of an angel, but more so surprised to see a soft little angel with hair so blonde it was just a few shades off from white. It matched him weirdly. 

 

Crawling up behind the angel, he slowly morphed into his human body, and lowering his voice so as to not accidentally surprise the angel, he whispered, “well, that went down like a lead balloon.” 

 

The moment the angel looked over at him, eyes soft and full of worry for the outcast humans, is the moment a piece of Crowley’s soul softened and a little bit more of hell burned away. 

 

For once, an angel didn’t look at him with disdain and pity. He didn’t look at him like he was fallen and that he chose the wrong side, but rather as an equal, and Crowley supposes that’s when that little bit of him became good. 

 

Some years pass after that. They meet again at the “great flood,” which Aziraphale wasn’t there to question, although he wasn’t feeling too hot about it. He was extremely relieved whenever Crowley— though, Crawley at the time— showed up, the companionship making him calm down, even if it was just a little. 

 

To Aziraphale, this was a simple meeting of two enemies on separate sides, one of whom knew the answer to a question that the other one had. Hell could do nothing to muddle with the great plan, so he felt no remorse telling Crowley what God was planning. But to Crowley, this was more than a simple meetup. This was ages of holding back, of saying, “no, it would be wrong to visit,” and, “no, you shouldn’t, you two just aren’t meant to be around each other,” all coming crashing down as Crowley’s strong-as-steel self-control finally gives in and he decides to pay a visit to the only other person on earth who truly knew what was going on. 

 

Humans would age, and eventually wither away as the land was replaced with metal and waste, in return for comfort. Every species creates their own demise, with help or without, Crowley supposed. But Aziraphale remained here, always, attempting to find the good in everything. 

 

Despite Crowley’s fears, the angel yet again does not turn him away or look at him with disgust. He relaxes, almost, and greets Crowley as a friend. 

 

Some would say that their friendship began that day in the garden, whenever Crowley attempted to calm Aziraphale and actually almost made it worse. 

 

But if you ask either of them, it began there, watching as the animals were loaded up pair by pair and the rain began to pour. It began whenever the pair realized that despite their differing sides and moralistic values, they understood each other, whether they knew that then or not. 

 

The pattern continues as the decades go on. The two are there to witness perhaps the best and the worst parts of history, from the french revolution to the creation of plumbing. And yet, despite how easily they can take on new trends and information and know exactly how to fit in (mostly) wherever they so choose to land, there are many things the two of them don’t realize. 

 

For one, Aziraphale has no idea that Crowley fell madly in love with the angel the moment they met in Eden.

 

And for two, neither did Crowley. 

 

That’s exactly where love can get tricky for the two, because angels— especially Aziraphale— are absolutely full of love, but have no clue how to comprehend the idea of someone physically loving them back, or loving them at all. And demons simply aren’t supposed to feel love, period, which is exactly why Crowley has labeled the unnatural want to be around angel as “the simple need for mutual companionship.” 

 

But, just as time moves on, everything comes to an end eventually. 

 

They will meet again, and again, and again as the earth spins and time ticks on. They will meet for possibly the longest they ever have, whenever Crowley is entrusted with the antichrist and the plan for Armageddon is set into motion. And then, after the trials in heaven take place, they will meet one last time. 

 

An angel sits at a park bench that holds years of history, happily feeding the ducks that don’t acknowledge his existence until the bread is tossed into the water for them to snack on. A demon, who had hopped out of a cab just a street across, struts his way to the angel and takes a seat beside him with a long sigh; the kind that comes from someone else’s burden, but relaxes everyone around them as if a massive weight has been removed. 

 

“I thought you’d be at the bookshop today, especially now that it’s not in ashes.” 

 

“And I thought you’d drive the bentley here.” 

 

They both look at each other, an unspoken _ I realized what was more important to me, and it’s not that _ floating from their glance and into their air, disappearing like cigarette smoke or incense. They both laugh and sit back, relaxing for the first time while they were together, because no one could tell them they couldn’t anymore. 

 

“I suppose I just wanted some air.” Aziraphale says, looking up at the clouds before looking over at Crowley. “We deserve the chance to de-stress, after all.” 

 

“We deserve a lot more than that.” Crowley adds, slinging his arm around the back of the bench. “We saved the bloody world for hell’s sake. Everyone should be thanking us. God should be thanking us!” 

 

“I’d rather she didn’t.” Aziraphale said with a worried shake of his head, and the two looked at each other before busting up into childish laughter yet again. It wasn’t often that the two got the chance to relax like this, out in the open and happy, but it felt nice. It felt like home. 

 

Their laughter died down slowly as they looked at each other, big smiles fading into content grins, before fading all together as centuries of unspoken words bubbled slowly to the surface. 

 

“Listen, I—“ the two of them started at the same time, and then stopped, before Aziraphale huffed in slight frustration and slammed his bag of bread crumbs down with more force than he meant to. 

 

“I want to thank you.” He said finally. 

 

“For what, Angel?” Crowley asked, an eyebrow raising up behind his glasses. 

 

“For...everything, I suppose. For helping me save the world. For protecting me all of these years. And for just being there, I suppose.” 

 

“Oh, don’t get sappy on me, Angel. You don’t have to thank me for that.” 

 

“But I do!” Aziraphale sighed, “I really, really do. Without you, there’s no telling where we— or I— would be right now. So I’m...thanking you. Because you deserve it. Because even though you may not like being called good, you’ve been good to me. And that counts for something at least.” 

 

Crowley, for once, is at a loss for words. He could easily make a joke, or reflect all of that with a single quip, but for once, he doesn’t want to. So he just nods and mumbles, “You’re welcome.” 

 

Aziraphale seems to melt at that, like ice cream in the sun. “Oh. Oh good! I was afraid you wouldn’t listen to me.” 

 

“I always listen to you.” 

 

“But you don’t  _ listen _ listen to me.”  

 

“I suppose you’re right. It’d be odd if demons just went around actually listening to what angels have to say, don’t you think?” 

 

Aziraphale nods and smiles at that, reaching for his bag of bread crumbs so he can throw another handful at the ducks. Crowley watches him careful, his eyes scanning up from his feet to that little perfect smile he always seems to have whenever he’s really happy about something, which is usually a lot. Or at least that’s how it is whenever Crowley is around. 

 

And so it’s his turn to snap. 

 

“You know, I have some things to say to you too, Angel.” 

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. Thank you, as well. Thank you for being my friend whenever everything in you told you not to. Thank you for helping me even whenever it hurt you. Thank you for being just enough of a bastard to listen to the things I say, even if I am a demon.” 

 

“Oh.” Aziraphale says in response, voice soft and contemplative. “Well, you’re welcome, for what it’s worth. Though you being a demon has nothing to do with anything.” 

 

“But you being an angel has something to do with everything, Aziraphale.” 

 

They both sigh at that, looking out onto the water before Aziraphale perks up a bit and reaches over to pat Crowley’s knee in hopes that he would perk up as well. “But none of that matters now, right? There’s no heaven, hell, and all of that hullabaloo. It’s just you and me.”

 

“Our side.” Crowley says, looking down at the hand that had remained on his knee, before slowly laying his hand on top of Aziraphale’s. 

 

“Our side.” Aziraphale repeats, not flinching as he turns his hand and slips his fingers in between Crowley’s. 

 

“Let’s go get some lunch then, yeah? How’s that little café down the road sound? You know, the one with the flowers painted on the walls that you like so much.” Crowley adds, deciding that after 6,000 years of unspoken feelings, there was no reason for anything to be said aloud. 

 

“I do believe you just read my mind.” Aziraphale adds, smiling as he stands, still hand in hand, and Crowley follows after. 

 

So the two go off, to do exactly as they’ve done since the moment they met: speak nothing, but say absolutely everything. 

 

Love was never meant to be simple for the two of them. It was never meant to be spoken, or summarized with a single three word sentence that everyone has used at least once, because they never were, and never will be anywhere near simple. 

 

So if love for them was slow, meticulous, and was realized at different times for each of them, then that was okay, because somewhere, decomposed and buried deep beneath years of land and development, lies the many pieces of another one of Agnus Nutter’s prophecies that was simply never meant to be read. 

 

_ “Somewhere, absolutely nothing remains the answer to ev’rything, and the answer to ev’rything only concerns those with wings of white and black.” _

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for any mistakes, im blind and dumb. i hope you liked it :) especially you, leafy


End file.
